


Irony (Alt. Title: Pazazz)

by TheJoysOfAMultishipper (Amemah)



Series: Pazazz [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Bourne Supremacy (2004), The Bourne Trilogy
Genre: F/M, First Meeting, Non-Graphic Mention of Gun Shot Wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amemah/pseuds/TheJoysOfAMultishipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re very polite for a robber.”</p>
<p>“The CIA trained me well.” He deadpans, and Darcy is about to laugh when she realizes that he isn’t joking.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Darcy is also pretty sure the CIA isn’t known for their manners.</p>
<p>The man faints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irony (Alt. Title: Pazazz)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from @pinkpandorafrog at tumblr! They're great, you should definitely go check them out! They're a great author as well, I'm sure you've already heard of them. 
> 
> Anyway, turns out they love Jason Bourne just as much as I do, and now we have this :D
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments, I love reading them!  
> And if you haven't seen the movies, go do that!!! They're great :D

“You. Give me your keys.”

Darcy turned around, snarky and rude retort already half-formed on her lips. It fell flat at the sight of the bloody shoulder and the P225. She didn’t think that telling the sweaty and bloody man that she knows the exact make and model of the gun he’s currently packing is smart – his nerves may be _a little bit_ on edge – so instead she opts for a fashionable squeak.

He looks unimpressed. He’s also three seconds away from fainting.

“Can I help you?” She asks, like an _idiot_ , wincing as he glares at her. Honestly, that intensity coupled with the probable amount of blood loss is impressive. And terrifying.

“Well…” He says slowly, as if he’s talking to a child. It’s not that far off; she’s only nineteen. But still – rude. “You could give me your keys.”

“You’re very polite for a robber.” Darcy says, shifting on her feet. She knows she can be annoying at the best of times, and this is not the best of times – she needs to be ready to run. She has the feeling that even in his bloodied state; he can still catch up to her. She’s also wondering why she isn’t running _already_.

“The CIA trained me well.” He deadpans, and Darcy is about to laugh when she realizes that he isn’t joking.

“Oh.” Darcy is pretty sure the CIA isn’t known for their manners.

The man faints.

Darcy looks around to see if anyone has noticed what’s going on, and when finds that no one has, she makes what arguably the worst decision of her life; she drags the bloody man with the P225 into her shitty car and does a Google search for hotels in the area. After that, she considers the irony of saving a CIA-agent’s life – who definitely does _not_ have the jurisdiction to be here with _guns_ – when she’s in _Russia_. She nearly has panic attack wondering whether the KGB has implanted some sort of device into her brain that can read her mind.

“The KGB doesn’t exist any more,” The man mumbles, having woken up when she was doing breathing exercises taught to her by Professor Ross.  
“That’s what they want you to think!” Darcy manages to say between wheezing breaths, “And considering you’re CIA, you should really know that.”

“’m not CIA,” He slurs. Darcy is secretly relieved that the blood loss is affecting him; she doesn’t think she can handle the revelation that the CIA is replicating the Super Serum in her weakened state. He tries to sit up, but his efforts to escape are ended by Darcy poking him with one finger. She made sure she didn’t poke the bad shoulder, but he still grunted when he fell down into the backseat. She’s pretty sure she needs some training in handling stressful situations, and also in taking care of gunshot victims.

“Right.” Darcy blinks, trying to clear her mind. “We’ll deal with that later.”

Correction: Darcy considers the irony of saving the life of a CIA _deserter_. It doesn’t have quite the same _pazazz_.

\--

“Look, dude, this the second time you’ve pointed a gun at me today.” Darcy raised her brows in a very unimpressed manner. “Please, have a cup of chill the fuck out.”  
The fact that she’s actually holding out a cup of chamomile tea for him to drink makes her reaction _that_ much better.

“This is definitely the first time I’ve pointed a gun at you today.” He said, completely ignoring her scathing wit and amazing comedic timing. He placed the gun under his pillow, fluffing it up. It’s hilarious to watch in the same way it’s hilarious to watch unconscious and bloody men wrinkle their nose at the scent of generic hotel soap. For the record, she didn’t wash him just to check out his abs. There was dry blood. Darcy has a uterus; she knows how icky it is to lie in a pool of dried blood, thank you very much.

“No…” Darcy deliberately makes it sound she talking to a child. Payback’s a bitch. Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a child. “Have you forgotten about the time you tried to steal my car?”

“I didn’t actually point the gun at you,” He said. “I just looked extremely menacing and you squeaked like a bird.”

Darcy thinks the pain meds are making him sassy.

He lied down against the pillows, accepting the cup of tea with suspicion. Darcy was tempted to say that it wasn’t poisoned, but she was dealing with a CIA deserter, and he was probably genuinely thinking that it was poisoned. Since there’s no handbook for being a smartass with super secret spies, Darcy ignored the opportunity. Her heart sank a little, but at least it was still beating. She had a feeling that he could kill her using only a magazine and a toaster.

“Huh,” Darcy sat down at the chair next to the bed. The hotel room they were in was very nice, but it was also tiny. It was all she could afford, and bringing him back to her apartment didn’t seem smart. The elevator was shot to hell, and he was _heavy_. “It felt like you were pointing a gun at me though, so it definitely counts.”

“It _felt_ like I was pointing a gun at you?” He was back to being unimpressed. Darcy was developing a complex.  
“Yeah,” She shrugged, “It’s like – well, you know Samuel L. Jackson?”

He nodded wearily. “Yeah. Have you ever heard of Nick Fury?”

“No?” Darcy shook her head. “Anyway, you know how he has roles that doesn’t _actually_ swear, but it still feels like he does?”

“I –“ He looked at her again, evaluating her. It wasn’t the same glare as before; it seemed softer. Not _soft_ , exactly, but it made him seem more approachable. “I should not understand what you’re talking about, but for some reason, I do.”

Darcy smirked triumphantly. “You chose the right girl to rob, dude.”  
He rolled his eyes, and Darcy only took a little pleasure in the way he winced as he moved his shoulder. “Sorry about that.”

Darcy brushed him off with a wave, sending him an easy smile. “No worries. I mean, the whole ‘robbing situation’” – complete with actual air-quotes – “didn’t really bother me. It’s more the fact that you were bleeding, with a gun, and identified yourself as CIA, and my response was to load you into my car and check you into a hotel.”

“Yeah,” He quirked a brow. “I don’t think you should trust your instincts.”  
“Why not?” Darcy sat up in the chair, taking the cup of tea from him. His hand was shaking, and he looked just about stubborn enough to let it fall on top of himself instead of asking for help. “We’re having a nice conversation. You’re not the shadiest person I’ve taken to my bed.”

“You mean the bed I’m bleeding out on?” He huffed a laugh. “All right, then. Who could possibly be quote-unquote _shadier_ than me?”

“Her name was Natasha.” Darcy grinned widely. “Her girlfriend was named Sharon.”

“Really?” He asked, doing an onceover of her again. She didn’t know if he was reading her (is that the correct spy-lingo?) or if he was checking her out, but either way; she didn’t mind. She’d wiped down his torso when he was unconscious, and while she definitely felt _bad_ about the thoughts entering her mind, they were also _there_. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Of course you didn’t. You don’t even know my name.”

He kept silent for three seconds, assessing her again. She had a feeling that earning his trust wasn’t going to be easy. Did she _want_ to earn his trust? She didn’t know. Maybe?

“I’m Jason.” He said, apparently having found her worthy. Jesus, was she Tor’s hammer, all of a sudden? Then again, she was in a room with a half-dead ex-CIA agent, so who knows? Maybe Tor _does_ exist.

“I’m Darcy. Nice to finally be introduced.”

“You sound very passive aggressive for a woman who basically kidnapped me.”  
“Oh, the secret agent has a personality? I couldn’t tell when you were bleeding all over my car. Y’know, when I saved your life. After you pointed a gun at me. Remember that?”

“Again,” Jason emphasized, “I didn’t _actually_ point the gun at you.”  
“You can get your own tea and not drink it next time.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr! Come say hi!](http://thejoysofamultishipper.tumblr.com/)


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